Burden of Guilt
by Kristen999
Summary: A what if story taking palce after the events of May Day
1. Default Chapter

Burden of Guilt   
  
  
AUTHOR: Kristen   
EMAIL: kdarganin@hotmail.com   
CATEGORY: JC/PB/MG friendship   
RATING: PG   
SPOILERS: Last eppy seen "May Day" takes place afterwards with a few   
minor adjustments.   
ARCHIVE: Anywhere as long as my name is attached and you tell me.   
DISCLAIMER: I don't own them, please don't sue.   
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story would not be possible with the help of my   
supper editors Lyss and Megan. They have provided me with a wealth of   
help and suggestions. Special thanks for her wonderful medical knowledge   
to Debbie. Also, to all of those who sent me feedback on Lessons Learned.   
I'll try to keep posting all of my other stories soon, and yes this will  
be posted in chapters for easier reading.  
SUMMARY: Things don't go as planned on the way to Atlanta.   
  
  
  
Mark, folded uncomfortably into the back seat of the car, shifted anxiously   
for what must have been the fiftieth time. His discomfort was not only   
caused by the long, cramped ride, but by the tense mood in the car. He   
transferred his gaze from Peter, who was driving, to Carter, who gazed   
dejectedly out the window. Peter never took his eyes off the road, probably   
to avoid looking at the sulking man in the passenger seat. Carter, on the   
other hand, looked totally lost in his own turmoil.   
  
Mark was not in the best mood, either. After Benton had followed Carter,   
Mark was left to wonder what had transpired during their encounter outside.   
Peter had phoned him from the airport to inform him that he was going with   
Carter to Atlanta. Mark was a bit taken aback by this piece of news, but   
realized that Benton would ensure the young doctor's arrival in Atlanta, as   
well as make sure he checked into the clinic. Mark took the train to the   
airport in order to pick up his van. Standing in the parking lot, his cellphone   
went off: it was Benton, informing him that the flight had been canceled and   
there wasn't another one scheduled. The three met up in the parking garage,   
where Mark had the suggested they drive to Atlanta.   
  
"We?" replied Peter.   
  
"Yeah," Mark had answered. He didn't know why, but he felt an urgent need   
to accompany them both. Carter absolutely had to arrive in Atlanta by the   
next day, since the program ran in thirty-day cycles and if he missed this   
cycle, he would have to wait a whole month. Mark felt extremely guilty   
about missing the signs of Carter's drug addiction. He'd been so wrapped up   
in his own hell the past few months, he'd completely missed his friend's   
deterioration. After clearing things with Kerry, and agreeing to work double   
shifts to makeup for time missed, the three piled into the van and set out on   
the road, with Carter quiet and miserable in the front seat.   
  
And so their adventure began. It was pouring rain as they drove along, and   
the car was thick with an uncomfortable, awkward silence. Carter had not   
said a word, and Peter's focus was concentrated on the road, which was   
becoming more and more difficult to navigate as the rain fell harder and   
harder. Mark was about to mention dinner when the rain began to taper off.   
Could that be a sign?   
  
"Is anyone hungry?" Mark asked the solemn duo up front. "I thought we   
could look for a place to eat."   
  
"You actually think we could find someplace in this weather?" Peter   
grumbled.   
  
"I thought we could keep our eyes open, since it seems we're pretty far off   
from anywhere." Mark hoped to keep the conversation somewhat civil.   
  
"We're in the middle of the mountains, and you think we can just pull off   
somewhere and find..."   
  
"That's why I suggested it now, Peter." Mark knew Peter wasn't in the best   
of moods. He really hadn't agreed to the whole intervention, and was   
probably a bit steamed at them for not noticing any of Carter's problems   
earlier. Mark knew he, too, felt guilty for buying into Carter's excuses and   
facade of stability.   
  
"What about you, Carter?" Mark asked his despondent friend. "You   
hungry?"   
  
"I get a choice in the matter?" Carter said, his voice cold and hard. No, it   
wasn't anger; it sounded more like defeat. Mark hated it.   
  
"Alright, I guess food can be put off till later." Mark settled back into his   
seat. It was very late, almost 2:00 a.m., and he was tired. He'd been working   
all day and driving all night, and his one desire was to simply fall asleep. He   
wished they would spot a motel or something. Then again, if the tension in   
the van were any indication, the three of them staying overnight together   
would be hell. Mark shifted again, trying to find a more comfortable   
position. Before he knew it, he'd nodded off.   
  
```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
Carter had no choice but to stare out the window. There wasn't anything to   
talk about, and he didn't want to listen to the radio. He was completely and   
totally miserable. His back hurt like hell from sitting in one position for too   
long, and he was surrounded by two colleagues who had figured out that he   
was unraveling at the seams. It was so odd. He had really thought he had   
things under wraps. He had been certain that one day, his mind would   
recover, which in turn would allow him some nightmareless sleep. His back   
would get better and, he would simply stop taking medication for it.   
  
The days turned in weeks, and the weeks started to turn into months. The   
sleepless nights wouldn't go away, and the shifts at the hospital became   
longer, the pain in his back became worse. The only way to keep the trauma   
in his head from consuming his life was to dive into work, which caused as   
many problems as it solved. To work and avoid his personal hell, he had to   
take more pain medication: double, triple, quadruple doses. He'd managed to   
keep his narcotic use, which was quickly becoming abuse, from coming to   
the attention of other doctors, but he'd failed. Mark knew, Kerry, Deb, hell   
the list went on. He just wished that Benton had not been involved. He   
would never be able to look him in the eye again, let alone work alongside   
him in the ER.   
  
Carter continued to gaze at the slowing raindrops, lost in his own thoughts.   
Suddenly, he heard Benton curse and the van lurched violently to the left.   
Before he knew what had happened, the van screeched to halt on what   
seemed like the side of the road. Carter looked over at Benton. The surgeon   
glanced over at him. The two locked eyes for a brief second before Carter   
adverted Peter's gaze.   
  
"What the hell was that?" Mark called from the backseat.   
  
"I don't know!" Peter replied. "One second the road was clear, and the next   
there were some tree limbs blocking the path. I think we're stuck." He   
sighed, considering. "I'm going to check things out." Peter hesitated a   
moment before exiting the van. "Is everyone alright?"   
  
"I'm good," Mark said as he climbed up towards the front of the vehicle.   
  
"I'm fine," Carter said in a low voice. He looked over at Peter and gave him   
a nod, trying not to laugh at himself. How many times had he been asked   
that question and given that same answer? Life was ironic that way. Carter   
watched Peter exit the van and inspect it for damage. He listened to him, out   
in the rain, since it was difficult to see outside in the dark. For the first time,   
he noticed they were in the middle of nowhere. He wasn't sure, but Carter   
thought that they could be in the Virginian mountains. Great, he thought to   
himself. If they had a flat tire up here, they were in trouble.   
  
Carter could feel Mark's eyes on him. He could tell the other man was   
wondering what to say, or how to start up a conversation while they waited   
for word on the van. It was Mark's van, why wasn't he the one looking to see   
if it was damaged? Was he that afraid to leave him alone? Did he think he   
would actually run away in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night?   
  
"Strange trip, huh?" Carter muttered, when the silence became too much to   
bear. Someone had to break the ice.   
  
"Yeah. One of my more eventful ones, I guess." Mark was happy that the   
younger man wanted to speak to him. Hopefully, Carter would one day   
understand why he had to force him to take these actions.   
  
"One for the scrapbook," Carter replied. Before he could continue with such   
mindless small talk, Peter banged on the window. Carter leaned over and   
unlocked the door, pushing it open to allow Peter in. Benton sat back down,   
staring out the windshield.   
  
"Looks like the axle is busted."   
  
"Busted axle?" Mark gasped. "Are you sure, Peter?"   
  
"Yes, I'm sure, Mark!" Peter barked.   
  
"Where are we?" Mark asked.   
  
"It looks like we're on an embankment on the side of the road. I'm going to   
go walk to a phone or something, because we're not getting out of here   
without some help." Peter banged his hand against the steering wheel.   
  
"Hold on a second, we don't even know where "here" is, Peter," Mark   
warned. "I have my cell phone; I'll call a tow truck or something."   
  
"And tell them what, Mark? Do you know where we are?" Carter could tell   
that Peter was trying to hold back his temper. He wasn't doing a good job.   
  
"It's better then walking around aimlessly," Mark reasoned as he dug his   
phone out of his briefcase. Mark tried dialing, but the line was dead. Carter   
wished it were possible for him to sink deeper into his seat, maybe melt   
through the center of the earth, or run away somewhere safe and warm, but   
he had no place to go. Instead, he twiddled with his hands, absently staring   
out the window at the falling rain. God, he was dying for a cigarette, but he   
didn't want to catch hell from Benton.   
  
"I can't get through, it must be the storm or something." Mark snapped the   
useless phone shut.   
  
"It could also be the mountains," Carter said in the same low voice he had   
used all evening.   
  
"Could be," was all Mark said.   
  
"Like I said, I'll go try to find some help, or a phone." Peter opened the door   
and went outside. The car door had barely slammed shut behind him before   
his fellow passengers were following him out.   
  
"Dr. Benton, you shouldn't go alone. Why don't we go with you?" Carter   
ventured to ask.   
  
"I don't need any company, Carter, I think both of you should stay in the van   
just in case someone comes by."   
  
"We've been sitting in that van for hours. I, for one, could really use the   
walk." Carter said, with more strength in his voice then he thought possible.   
  
"Peter, you shouldn't walk around by yourself out here." Mark glanced at   
Carter then looked back at Benton. "I'll stay with the van. Carter can go with   
you to look for help."   
  
Peter looked over at his former student. He knew the doctor could really use   
this exercise to burn off energy and frustration. "You sure, Carter? Do you   
think you could walk a long way without..."   
  
"I can walk a couple miles, Dr. Benton," Carter interrupted sharply. "My   
back really hurts, and I would like to loosen it up." Carter hoped that by   
being honest, Peter would relent.   
  
"Alright, Carter let's get going; who knows how long we'll be." Peter turned   
his back to both of them and started up the road. Carter glanced at Mark,   
who nodded.   
  
"I'll be waiting, you know, in the van. Hey, at least it sort of stopped   
raining." Mark turned the other way and climbed back into the relative   
safety of his broken down vehicle.   
  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
The walk wasn't very pleasant. It was hard to see without the aid of   
flashlights and the road was slippery. Carter kept up as best he could with   
his former teacher. He could tell the other man was trying to keep his pace   
slow enough so that Carter could manage. He really wanted to say   
something to his mentor, but everything that came to mind sounded weak.   
He had cried like a baby in his arms. How could Benton ever respect him   
again? Carter realized that he owed him so much, not only for his teaching,   
but also for being brave enough to risk alienating him. He wouldn't take any   
of his stubbornness. Carter knew that Peter saw it for the illusion that it was.   
He was amazed how screwed up his life had become in just a few short   
months. In a way he was happy about the connection he felt with Peter. He   
just wished it hadn't been fear that brought them closer together. He'd always   
thought he would earn Peter's respect, and they would eventually talk some   
more. Or he would make a heroic save in the ER, and Benton would open up   
to him, treat him like an equal. All he ever wanted was the man's respect and   
attention: he wanted to make his former teacher proud of him.   
  
They would have to start all over when this whole ordeal was finished. He   
would make it up to him somehow. It was hard to see Benton with his black   
leather jacket on, and Carter nearly collided with him when he very suddenly   
stopped short.   
  
"Carter, watch it man. I think I hear something." Peter stood motionless for a   
second.   
  
"What is it, Dr. Benton?" Carter asked.   
  
"Quiet, I think I hear a car or something coming around the curve." Peter   
squinted in the darkness and Carter noticed an engine's noise. He could just   
barely make out some faint headlights. The beams of light seemed to dart   
from left to right in some strange fashion. Peter stepped away from the side   
of the road in order to catch the driver's attention. Carter watched the car   
coming around the bend. It wasn't slowing down to help the two men who   
were trying to flag it down. Both Carter and Benton began yelling.   
  
Benton approached the road and, just as the car neared, slipped and fell to   
the ground. To Carter, the world seemed to slip into some weird form of   
slow motion. Peter tumbled to the ground, and the car continued on its path,   
oblivious. Carter yelled at Benton to get up and started towards him to give   
him a hand. The surgeon had not recovered from his fall and was trying   
awkwardly to stand. Headlights were coming from the other direction now,   
and, panicked, Carter lunged at Benton, desperate to get him out of the   
middle of the road before the car came bearing down on them.   
  
But he wasn't quick enough. The vehicle struck him as he attempted to dive   
out of the way. He collided with a tire and rolled over onto the windshield,   
then bounced off the hood and onto the hard asphalt. Carter felt the impact   
on his right side as he landed in a heap on the edge of the road. He only had   
a few seconds to register what just transpired before seismic waves of pain   
rippled through him. Before he could cry out, the world went black before   
his eyes.  
  
  



	2. Chapter2

It all happened so fast. One minute he was yelling and waving down an   
approaching car; the next, he was in the middle of the road with the   
oncoming vehicle bearing down on him. Despite his best efforts to get out of   
the way, he knew it would be too late. Before anything could register in his   
frantic mind, he was shoved from behind, and was now struggling to get up   
from the fall. Benton heard the impact of metal on flesh and turned his head   
to see Carter land on the other side of the road. The sedan that hit him   
slowed down enough for Peter to see the horrified expression of the man   
driving.   
  
"Hey, stop, I need help over here!" Peter yelled as he rushed to Carter's side.   
As he knelt down beside his friend, tires screeched, and the car took off.   
Peter didn't have time to curse the driver before their only hope disappeared   
from sight.   
  
Carter was sprawled on his back, in a position that suggested a child's   
making a snow angel. Peter checked for a pulse and was relieved to find one:   
steady, but a bit slow. It was very difficult to examine Carter in the dark   
without the aid of any instruments, but Peter attempted to, anyway. He   
peeled back Carter's left eyelid and put his face as close as possible to check   
for a reaction, but there wasn't enough light to see the response. After   
looking into Carter's right eye, Peter was fairly certain that his pupils were   
equal. No sign of head trauma. Yet.   
  
Peter pulled away Carter's tie and quickly unbuttoned his shirt. He gently   
placed his ear over his chest in an attempt to listen for breath sounds.   
Without the aid of a stethoscope, he determined that his respirations were   
shallow, and ragged on the right side. Broken ribs, he thought. It didn't   
sound as if his lungs were punctured, but only an x-ray could determine that   
for certain. Next, Peter ran his hands over Carter's head, searching for any   
swelling or lacerations. There was no blood, but his fingers swept over a   
very large bump on the back of the younger man's skull.   
  
"Probably from the impact of the road," he said aloud to the empty night. He   
gently ran his hands along Carter's neck and shoulders. There weren't any   
indications of broken bones or dislocations, so he continued to probe his   
ribs, noting at least two broken on the right side. Peter moved his   
examination down to Carter's legs. He didn't feel any more wounds, but   
medical experience told him there could be many hidden, and serious,   
injuries.   
  
"What the hell am I going to do?" he said under his breath. "Carter?... Carter,   
can you hear me, man? Carter, wake up." His former student remained   
motionless. The rain was slowly picking up, and Peter hovered above the   
younger doctor in a futile effort to keep the rain off. Moving him was   
contraindicated with his head and possible neck wounds, but leaving him in   
a puddle of water was sure to cause hypothermia. Peter needed to do   
something quickly, but what? He could go back to the van and get Mark;   
maybe there was something inside the vehicle he could use. No, that   
wouldn't work, there was no way they were going to be able to move Carter   
without a backboard. What they needed was an ambulance, and a hospital,   
immediately. Peter was sure Mark had a first aid kit of some sort in his van,   
but he wasn't going to leave Carter alone and unprotected on the cold, wet   
asphalt.   
  
Peter's thoughts were interrupted when he heard footsteps moving up the   
road. He stood quickly, using his hand as a shield against the rain. There was   
a shadowy figure moving up the road. Did the driver realize his grievous   
error? Peter took off his jacket and draped it over Carter's body to protect it   
from the rain. Giving his fallen colleague one last glance, Peter ran to met   
the person walking towards him. The urgency of the situation gave Peter an   
adrenaline rush and he closed the distance in no time at all.   
  
"Peter, I was getting bored, and I thought..."   
  
"Mark, I need some help, come on." Peter cut the other doctor off and turned   
around, starting back toward his injured friend, without so much as letting   
the other man know what had transpired.   
  
"Peter?" Mark called after him. "Peter, what's going on?" he yelled   
breathlessly as he desperately tried to keep up with the surgeon.   
  
"Carter was hit by a car; I don't have time to explain." Peter returned to   
where he had left the younger doctor. "He's got a couple broken ribs,   
diminished breath sounds on the right side. Pulse is 65, a probable   
concussion."   
  
Mark knelt on the other side, his jeans soaking through from the puddle. He   
felt for Carter's carotid artery, reassuring himself that his pulse was still   
strong. "I've got a flashlight with me!" Mark yelled, as a loud clap of thunder   
echoed through the mountains. Mark fished in his pocket for the small travel   
flashlight and went about checking Carter's pupils.   
  
"Pupils are equal and sluggish, but they are responding to light. We need to   
get him out of this rain," he added, as Peter snatched the flashlight out of his   
hands.   
  
"We can't move him, he may have internal and spinal cord injuries," Peter   
shouted at the other doctor.   
  
"Peter, we can't exactly leave him in the middle of the road. It's raining, he's   
soaked, probably hypothermic," Mark reasoned.   
  
"I'm well aware of that, but where the hell do you want to move him to? The   
van? How will we do that?" Peter snapped angrily, daring Mark to challenge   
him.   
  
Mark took a deep, calming breath. "Peter, I know you're worried, and I know   
this is an extremely difficult situation, but we simply can not leave him here.   
We don't know where or when we can get help." Peter didn't say anything,   
so Mark continued on. "He doesn't seem critical, and under normal   
circumstances he would be on a gurney, stabilized, on his way to a hospital.   
We don't have that luxury right now."   
  
Peter gritted his teeth and spoke forcefully to make his point crystal clear.   
"We can not just haul him to the van and risk having one of his ribs puncture   
his lungs or rupture his spleen. We are out here because we didn't supervise   
his care properly before. I will not compromise it out here now, no matter   
what the circumstances."   
  
"God, will you please stop arguing... my head is killing me." Both doctors   
looked around, startled, hoping help had arrived. It took them a few seconds   
to realize that the whisper had come from their patient on the ground.   
  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
Both men returned their attention to him. "Carter, look at me. Look at me,   
Carter," Peter said before Mark had a chance to speak. He waited until   
Carter's eyes were focused on him. "Can you tell us how you feel?"   
  
Carter closed his eyes as if trying to mentally analyze his condition. He   
opened them again, slowly, and both doctors recognized the worry reflected   
in them. His whole body shook as he spoke, making it harder for him to   
breathe.   
  
"Right now...ahhh...I think I'm slipping into shock." Carter gingerly wrapped   
his arms around his trembling body. He tried to regulate his breathing, which   
was made impossible by the sharp pains that shot through him with every   
lungful of air. His chest felt as if there was a giant weight on it, crushing   
him. It was also distressing that both men looking down on him were   
surrounded by several blurry twins.   
  
When he spoke he had a certain detached clinical tone. "I...I know a few of   
my ribs are broken." He closed his eyes again, trying to ride out wave after   
wave of pain. The sensation was something he hadn't experienced the first   
time he was hurt. There were firey hot streaks of pain, which lanced through   
his chest, burning each injury like hot coals. It was accompanied by a very   
deep cold that chilled him down to his bones.   
  
"I'm experiencing double vision, from the concussion, I guess...a horrible   
headache. I...I don't know what else...my chest hurts. It's...It's like more then   
broken ribs." His mind automatically ran through everything, making   
diagnoses as it was trained to do. Carter turned his head, planting the side of   
his face in the cold water beneath him. The water felt good; it had a nice   
numbing effect. But after a few seconds, it caused the inside of his head to   
explode; fire seemingly to coursing though his skull. He gasped.   
  
"Carter, don't move around," Mark admonished. He gazed up at Benton and   
they shared a look of concern.   
  
"Okay, Carter, I'm going to press down on a few areas," Peter informed him.   
"You know what I'm looking for. I know everything hurts, but please try to   
distinguish between the different levels of pain." Carter opened his eyes, and   
an agreement was shared between them without a word being said.   
  
Peter applied pressure to different areas, while Mark held the flashlight over   
them. He pressed down on Carter's abdomen. He started with his right side,   
since it had taken the brunt of the impact. From the younger man's reactions,   
he discerned that it was tender, but the pain was tolerable. He moved to the   
left side. His fingers gently felt along Carter's ribs, and around the incision   
from his previous surgery. The scar was still very pronounced and angry   
looking. Benton sighed, thinking of how everything had changed in just a   
few short months.   
  
Carter knew what was going through Benton's mind. Even though it was far-  
fetched, there was a small inkling of fear that body parts which had gone   
through hell at the hands of Paul Sobriki could be reinjured. Carter knew the   
chances of that were small, but it was the only explanation for Peter's being   
more thorough on that side. When the surgeon carefully felt each rib, there   
was not doubt which ones were broken. But when his fingers reached the   
sternum, Carter cried out in pain.   
  
"Are you alright, Carter?" Mark asked rhetorically.   
  
"God! That hurts," he gasped through clenched teeth.   
  
"It could be broken or bruised," Peter said, touching it again. Carter   
concentrated on not screaming. "Probably broken, but I can't tell without x-  
rays. Arms and legs look fine," he added, concluding his examination.   
  
"I...kind of what to get ...out of this puddle." Carter said, his teeth chattering.   
He looked at the other two men. "I think its...worth the risk to the van." He   
could barely spit the words out. He knew he had to get warm, and out of his   
wet clothes. He didn't know the extent of his injuries, but the possibility of   
surrendering to hypothermic shock did not sound enticing.   
  
"No." Peter was adamant. He shook his head and fixed Carter with a stare   
that reminded him of the days when he would screw up and piss Benton off.   
"Its too risky."   
  
"I think he's right," Mark said firmly. "We could help you back to the van,   
maybe find some dry clothes." He fixed Benton with his own menacing stare   
to quiet his objections. "I still have my bag in there, and we'll be able to help   
you better. It's a no win situation, Carter, but the better option is to get you   
to the van and get you warmed up." Mark gestured for Benton to follow him,   
indicating that they needed to speak privately.   
  
Peter looked down. "Carter, don't do anything stupid, like trying to get up."   
  
They began to speak, both thinking their patient couldn't hear them. They   
couldn't have been more wrong.  
  



	3. Chapter3

  
Carter shivered on the ground, wrapping his arms around himself as tightly   
as his broken body would allow. The shaking sent painful vibrations through   
him, jostling his destroyed ribs. Benton had warned him against getting up,   
not that he really could. He was having a hard enough time taking shallow,   
unfulfilling breaths, let alone attempt standing up, unaided. He closed his   
eyes to block the nauseating double images he was seeing. Another   
symptom of concussion, he mused. The pain was overwhelming, and, unlike   
his previous injury, he couldn't make himself slip into unconsciousness.   
When he tried to focus on internal thoughts, his mind drifted back to the   
incredible throbbing that threatened to overtake him. All that he had left to   
concentrate on were the loud, angry voices, engaged in a heated discussion a   
few feet away.   
  
"Peter, you know we have to move him, and disagreeing in front of Carter is   
not going to put his mind at ease," Mark told the defensive surgeon.   
  
"You want to talk about ease? How are we supposed to get him to the   
vehicle? He has to stand and then walk the entire way there. It's gotta be at   
least a mile. No matter how much we help him, he's not going to be able to   
remain upright the entire time. We..."   
  
"He's going to have to, we don't..."   
  
"Don't cut me off, Dr. Greene!" Peter responded angrily. Peter fixed Mark   
with an intense stare that clearly communicated his intolerance for   
interruptions. Satisfied that the other doctor understood the message, he   
went on. "I am well aware of the effects of hypothermia. That water is not   
cold enough to put him in deep shock. I'm sure his core temperature is way   
above 97 degrees. That's safe. Moving him a great distance however, isn't,   
and will probably cause more damage. We don't know the extent of his head   
injury, and moving him around could aggravate a severe concussion, you   
know that." Peter's voice was stern and firm, and he hoped Mark would   
realize that he was correct.   
  
"I appreciate your surgical opinion, Peter," Mark said, putting a slightly   
sarcastic emphasis on "surgical." "The problem is, we don't know anything.   
He could be suffering cold shock; you know that can be the result of   
immersion in cold water. That could cause hyperventilation, which in turn   
might affect his broken ribs. We need to get him out of the street and into   
some warm clothes. Walking will help his circulation, and we can treat him   
better in the van until help arrives." Mark's words were spoken with   
calmness and determination.   
  
"We'll move slowly and carefully to safer conditions. Now, rather than   
arguing over things out of our control, let's work on a situation we can do   
something about." Mark turned around and started back towards the injured   
man.   
  
Carter listened carefully to their heated debate. As a doctor, he understood   
each man's opinion on the matter. Each option was not very desirable, and   
each one had its own set of problems. He didn't know whose side to take, but   
in the end, it probably didn't matter. It was going to hurt no matter what they   
did, and he rather be in the warm van than this cold, numbing puddle of   
water. His clothes were completely soaked through, and pressed down on his   
battered chest like an iron weight. He didn't know which was worse, the   
creeping numbness in his limbs, or the horrible pain emanating from his   
head and chest.   
  
He opened his eyes when he felt both doctors kneeling beside him. Mark's   
concerned face was in direct contrast to Benton's angry scowl. Two   
expressions he was used to receiving, he mused unhappily. Just not in these   
circumstances.   
  
"Carter, we're going to help you into a sitting position," Mark said gently.   
"After you're acclimated, we're going to help you stand."   
  
"I-I know. I can do it. I-I'll b-be able to walk." Carter looked to Mark, and   
then to Benton. "W-w-with some help fr-from the two of you."   
  
Mark slid one hand under Carter's shoulder, firmly gripping it with the other.   
He nodded to Peter to do the same with the injured man's other side. Peter   
grudgingly placed his hands in the same fashion as Mark's.   
  
"We'll lift you halfway; help you sit up," Mark told him. "Okay, on three.   
One...two...three." Both doctors gently lifted Carter up, carefully supporting   
his shoulders. Mark kept his hands behind Carter's back, while Peter moved   
his left hand to the doctor's chest to keep him from falling over.   
  
The movement took his breath away and he wrapped his arms around his   
body to steady himself. He waited a few seconds, then slowly opened his   
eyes. His vision was a little clearer, but the fire in his head had returned with   
a vengeance. It was as if all his injuries were competing for his attention.   
  
"Carter, just give it a few seconds," Mark said warningly. He kept one hand   
behind Carter's shoulder, and with the other grabbed the jacket that had   
slipped off, awkwardly attempting to wrap it around him.   
  
"It's alright. I-I think I can stand up now," Carter said in a weak voice.   
  
"Carter, just rest a minute, we're not in a rush," Peter reassured him, glaring   
at Mark.   
  
"Let's...just get it over with, it's freezing out here," the doctor whispered.   
  
Carter gathered all his strength and began to stand. Both his companions   
held him underneath his armpits, just in case he couldn't make it all the way   
up. Carter was very unsteady on his feet, and wavered for a few seconds   
before Benton steadied him. Mark took Carter's left arm and draped it over   
his own shoulders so the young man could lean on him.   
  
Carter ached all over. He put most his weight on Mark, and wrapped his   
right arm around his middle. Benton kept one hand behind his back and the   
other on his elbow as he led him forward. Carter slowly dragged his feet in   
an approximation of walking and they inched their way up the road. His   
lungs screamed for more air, but all he could manage were short, shallow   
breaths. His head felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to the inside of   
his skull. The pounding was increasing in strength and intensity, and he used   
it as a rhythm for his feet. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.   
  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
After twenty painful minutes, the trio was still diligently forging ahead. It   
had had taken ten minutes to walk from the van, but a lot had changed since   
then. Now, their destination seemed to move farther away with each step   
they took. Carter's headache increased with every awkward step, and it was   
taking its toll on the rest of him. He was putting more weight on Mark, and   
was beginning to lose his sense of equilibrium.   
  
Sensing that Carter was losing his balance, Peter tightened his grip on his   
shoulder. "Hey, Carter let's slow down. The van is only a little ways down   
the bend."   
  
The group slowed their pace as the rain continued to pour down on them.   
Carter was beginning to feel very sick to his stomach as the dizziness   
increased. Suddenly, a wave of nausea crashed over him. "Hey, stop!" he   
said with urgency.   
  
"What's the matter, Carter?" Mark asked with concern.   
  
"I'm going to be sick," he managed as he bent down and let the nausea took   
over.   
  
"Easy, man, let us help you," Peter said. Both doctors lowered him gently to   
the ground as the younger man began to lose what little contents were left in   
his stomach from lunch. "Try not to strain yourself," Benton remarked,   
noticing that Carter was throwing up nothing but bile.   
  
"It's the concussion, Peter," Mark said rhetorically, as Carter to crumble to   
the ground, exhausted and in pain. Mark slowly rubbed his hand in circles on   
Carter's back to try to calm the tremors that rocked his young colleague's   
body.   
  
"I told you this wasn't a good idea," Peter stated simply. Mark just knelt next   
to Carter in silence, waiting for him to recover enough to continue.   
  
The retching had destroyed what little strength he had left. Carter was   
miserable, and his chest was on fire. The strains of being sick seemed to rip   
him apart from the inside. Breathing was becoming ridiculously laborious.   
How had the simplest function of the human body become the hardest thing   
in the world to accomplish?   
  
"I can't go on." His voice broke with pain and defeat.   
  
"Yes, you can. It's just around the next bend. Then you can rest, and warm   
up, and we'll get help." Mark knew his words sounded hollow and   
unencouraging, but they were so close! He didn't look at Peter, whose eyes   
must have been smoldering with anger.   
  
"No, I can't," Carter responded wearily.   
  
"Carter, since when do you back down from challenges? Now that van is   
only a few steps away and you are going to get there. You understand me?"   
Peter added firmly.   
  
It was that voice again, challenging him to overcome another obstacle.   
Carter had spent six years of his life trying to prove his mettle to Peter   
Benton, and he would not give up on that tonight. He wiped his mouth with   
his rain-drenched sleeve, and nodded to let them know he was ready, not   
wanting to waste his energy on speaking.   
  
Carefully he was helped to a standing position once again. Both men put an   
arm around his waist and they continued their trek to the inviting warmth   
and safety of their broken down vehicle.   
  
  
  
  
Mark's van was a welcome sight to all three men. It was apparent that Carter   
was ready to collapse; he was basically dead weight in their arms. Mark   
opened the back door and both men carefully lowered Carter onto the seat.   
  
"We're going to keep you sitting up so we can get those wet clothes off, and   
then you can lie down," Mark said as he reached over him to scavenge for   
something for Carter to change into. "Is your suit jacket in the front seat,   
Carter?" Mark asked the shivering man.   
  
"Yeah Think so."   
  
"We need something more than his suit jacket. Do you have any other   
clothes in here?" Peter asked as he checked Carter's pulse again. It was   
getting a little faster. He frowned anxiously.   
  
"Yeah. We need something warm; fleece or wool maybe," Mark called from   
the front seat. "I found his jacket. Doesn't look too warm, but it's better then   
nothing." Mark used his penlight to search the dark car for clothing. He   
shoved newspapers under the passenger seat out of the way, and came across   
one of his white T-shirts. He checked underneath the driver's seat, finding   
some dirty sweat pants, probably stashed there after a long run. He crawled   
back to the other two men with the clothes that he'd found.   
  
"Pulse is up to 100. When we get him dry, I'll re-examine him," Peter said,   
moving out of the way. "I'll get your medical bag while you help him take   
off those wet clothes." Peter got out of the car and walked around to the   
other side to find the much needed medical instruments. He avoided Mark's   
confused look, as he was left to the task of helping Carter change.   
  
Mark sat next to Carter, who was resting his head against the inside wall of   
the van. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be oblivious to everything   
going on around him. His face was seemed contorted with lines of pain.   
Some people just never get a break, Mark thought sadly.   
  
"I'm going to remove your shirt and pants, Carter. Try to help me if you   
can." Carter nodded vaguely. Mark slid his suspenders down, unbuttoned his   
dress shirt. He didn't want him to have to lift his arms above his head to get   
his undershirt off, so he called for Peter to give him the scissors from the   
medical bag.   
  
Peter rummaged through the medical kit, finally locating the desired tool. He   
wordlessly handed them to Mark, and watched the man cut the wet T-shirt   
away. Carter was shivering in earnest, so Peter handed the other doctor some   
paper towels that were lying on the floor of the van. Mark took them and   
tried to dry Carter's chest and arms. They were quickly soaked through.   
Mark began dig in his pocket.   
  
"What are you looking for?" Peter asked when Mark came up empty-   
handed.   
  
"My keys, so we can turn the heater on," Mark said, wondering where he'd   
left them.   
  
"I've got them. Dammit, I should have thought of that earlier," Peter berated   
himself as he walked around to the front seat. He slipped the keys into the   
ignition and turned the heater on full blast. His fingers clumsily searched for   
the button to switch on the interior light. He finally located the knob and   
turned it, illuminating the cabin. When he returned to the back he found   
Mark was having a difficult time getting the new shirt on their patient.   
Carter seemed to be struggling against him while Mark tried to slide the shirt   
on him.   
  
"What's going?" Peter asked as he sat down next to them.   
  
"I think he's disoriented," Mark responded as he tried futilely to get Carter's   
arms into the sleeves. Peter moved closer to Carter and helped slide the   
combative man's arms through the holes of the shirt.   
  
"Hey, Carter, calm down, man. We're getting you warm," Peter told the   
struggling doctor comfortingly. Together they completed the difficult task,   
then attempted to put the suit jacket on too. Carter opened his eyes and   
looked wildly at both men, clearly having a hard time focusing on either of   
them.   
  
"What's going on?" he asked in a worried voice. "Where are we?" The   
simple struggle he had put up seemed to have drained away what little   
energy he had left. Even in the dim light his face looked pale and sickly.   
  
"You were hit by a car, Carter. Do you remember?" Peter asked, a little   
nervously. Carter closed his eyes as if trying to recall the memory. When he   
opened them, it was evident that he knew what was happening.   
  
"Yea, it-i-it took me a second to-remember it."   
  
"Good, okay," Mark said, sounding relieved. "We need to get those wet   
pants off now." He didn't need to confirm anything with Peter; both knew   
that severe concussions caused confusion and short-term memory loss.   
  
"I can do it." Carter fumbled with the button of his slacks. He had a hard   
time getting his fingers to work. "I guess---it's a good thing I don't---wear a   
belt," Carter said jokingly, his voice shaking.   
  
"I'll help." Mark quickly undid the button and slid the pants off. He gathered   
the sweatpants in order to put them on quickly, since wet boxers were next   
to come off, and he wanted to save the man as much embarrassment as   
possible. Mark heard Peter searching for medical instruments from his bag; a   
distraction scripted to give Carter privacy. To try to get his mind off the task,   
Mark asked him a question.   
  
"Why do you wear suspenders, anyway?" he asked, trying to get Carter's leg   
into the sweatpants.   
  
"My grandfather always wore them. And-well, when you have a high   
metabolism like my-m-me. Suspenders keep my--pants on--since most belts   
don't have enough holes." Mark chuckled at this answer, and Carter smiled.   
  
"High metabolism, hmm, explains why you eat like a horse," he replied.   
  
Carter shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position, and quickly   
regretted it. Blackness clouded his vision and pain ripped through his chest.   
He put his hand to his injured sternum in a weak attempt to alleviate the   
pain. Peter brushed past Mark and put on his stethoscope. Peter rubbed the   
end of the instrument to warm it before placing it under Carter's new shirt.   
He listened to his lungs, recognizing the sounds of harsh, labored breathing,   
and carefully repeated the procedure around his abdomen.   
  
"Normal bowel sounds, heart rate up to 110, breath sounds are still shallow.   
Without proper tests I can't say for certain that you haven't lacerated your   
liver or your kidney, but I would say that you haven't punctured either of   
your lungs." Peter squeezed Carter's shoulder reassuringly and slung the   
stethoscope around his neck.   
  
"Now, how many fingers am I holding up?"   
  
"Hmmm, four?" Carter answered woozily.Peter looked over at Mark, and   
they shared a worried glance. Peter put down the three fingers he had been   
displaying. "Alright, I want you to track my finger." Peter took his pointer   
finger and leaned in closer to watch Carter's pupils react to its movement.   
After a few minutes of very little response, he put his hand down and turned   
to face Mark.   
  
"What is--it? What's wrong, Dr. Benton?" Carter asked his mentor.   
  
"Nothing, Carter," Mark answered him. "We're just concerned about that   
bump on your head. You know the drill; you were a bit sluggish reacting to   
Peter's tests." Mark wanted Benton to understand that it wasn't a good idea   
to let Carter understand the severity of the situation.   
  
"You don't need to hide anything from me, Dr. Greene," Carter stated   
through chattering teeth. "I can figure out o--o--on my own what the   
problem is. I--I was trained by the b--best."   
  
"Obviously you weren't paying attention to the part about needing to finish   
an examination before making a diagnosis," Peter said, a bit too harshly.   
  
Mark scooted over next to Carter and placed his hands on the younger man's   
neck, then went about feeling his face and hands. "Peter, could you find my   
thermometer and check if the heater is on its highest setting?"   
  
"I already looked for one, and there aren't any in your bag. The heater's on   
full blast. This is as warm as it's going to get in here." Peter's voice was   
edged in defeat and anxiety.   
  
Mark stood up as much as he could in the cramped car and climbed out and   
around to where Benton was sitting. "Look, his skin is cold and clammy. We   
need to do something more to keep him from slipping into further shock. I   
know I overruled you out in the field, but this isn't the time or place to get   
angry about it."   
  
"We compromised his health by moving him," Peter said tersely. "I will not   
let you question my judgment again."   
  
"What happened out there, Peter? You usually like to redirect your anger at   
others." Mark looked intently at Peter.   
  
"We don't have time to argue right now. How do you suggest we continue   
with his care, Dr. Greene?" Peter folded his arms across his chest.   
  
"We don't have any blankets or anything. We'll use body heat." Mark turned   
away and sat down next to Carter. "We can take shifts. Do you want me to   
go first?"   
  
"Yeah, go ahead," Peter said quietly, as Mark positioned himself behind   
Carter.   
  
Mark sat behind Carter so he could wrap his arms around him. Carter leaned   
into the embrace for warmth, and Mark rubbed his hands over Carter's   
shaking arms. The younger doctor didn't say a word, resting his head on   
Mark's shoulder. Mark knew from experience that Benton was uptight   
because he felt helpless at the moment. They were both trained doctors, yet   
they couldn't do anything for Carter at that moment.   
  
"Don't fall asleep, Carter," Peter warned. "You need to stay awake."   
  
"I-I am awake," Carter whispered. "This is-humiliating."   
  
"It's proper medical procedure, Carter, don't worry about it," Peter said   
dryly.   
  
Mark was about to say something reassuring when both men heard the sound   
of an approaching car. Peter awkwardly climbed over the front seat, since   
Mark and Carter were blocking the path out the back. He frantically yanked   
at the inside lever and released the door, then jumped out and ran after the   
sound of the retreating vehicle.   
  
To be contiuned... in a day or so. 


	4. Chapter4

Mark strained his neck to see out the dark window. He couldn't see anything,   
but he could hear running footsteps. After a few minutes the dejected doctor   
climbed back into the front seat. He remained still, his head bowed over the   
steering wheel, resisting the urge to take his frustration out on the instrument   
panel.   
  
"The car was already driving past us by the time I got outside." Peter stared   
at the wheel for a few more seconds, only looking up when he heard Carter   
speaking.   
  
"Don't worry, Dr. Benton, I'll be fine," Carter gasped. That word again.   
  
"Fine." And once again, it was miles away from the truth.   
  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
It had been forty-five minutes, and no more cars had approached. Peter sat in   
the front seat with the driver side door open a crack, waiting and ready to   
flag down an approaching vehicle.   
  
Mark was beginning to feel cramped and uncomfortable, and the small talk   
he was making with Carter was becoming more and more difficult. Mark's   
fear of hypothermia was fading, as the younger doctor's skin felt warmer and   
his shaking had subsided. However, it was apparent that he couldn't string   
together complete sentences, and this had Mark very concerned.   
  
Mark decided to break the silence with Peter. "I think I'm going to try to   
walk outside and use my cell phone. Maybe I can find an area where the   
signal might work."   
  
"Isn't that how this situation was created in the first place?" Peter asked   
solemnly.   
  
"Yeah, well, I don't think waiting for help to find us is going to work. These   
roads probably get flooded during these intense storms and I doubt we'll be   
seeing any traffic anytime soon." Mark didn't wait for another rebuke from   
Benton. He carefully lowered Carter flat on his back feeling each and every   
grimace that spread across Carter's face as he was moved.   
  
"I think letting him lie flat is the best thing for him right now. Normally I   
would want to elevate his legs, but I think that would only put further strain   
on his broken ribs," Mark reasoned, not looking at Peter.   
  
"Moving him around didn't seem to concern you too much earlier," Peter   
replied stoically as Mark opened the back door of the van to exit. Mark   
lingered for just a second, letting Peter's words sink into his already   
burdened conscience. Before he closed the door to keep the wind from   
blowing in he said quietly, "We all have regrets that cannot be undone,   
Peter."   
  
The door was slammed shut, leaving Peter alone with Carter. Silently, Peter   
considered the regrets which weighed the most heavily on his heart at that   
moment.   
  
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
"Why--do--you always--do that?" Cater asked without bothering to look up.   
Speaking was pure torture; the exercise of inhaling and exhaling was putting   
a tremendous exertion on what felt like the collapse of his chest cavity.   
However, the question was one that he often thought about, and always   
wanted to ask. No time like the present.   
  
"Do what?" Peter asked, frustrated.   
  
"Shut--yourself--down. You're ssssso--scared..."   
  
"Carter, now's not the time to try to analyze me. There's more..." Peter was   
silenced, not by an angry verbal interruption, but by the feel of someone's   
hand squeezing his arm. It was not a signal of comfort. It was a gesture that   
clearly communicated "Shut up!" The grip loosened when it won its desired   
effect, then remained as one in need of human contact.   
  
Carter could tell it made the surgeon slightly uncomfortable, but for once he   
didn't care what Dr. Peter Benton thought about him. He needed the   
reassurance of his presence. The younger doctor resumed his conversation,   
fighting for every word.   
  
"You're scared to show--any feelings. T-t-that you're human. T-t-that you--  
care." Carter could feel the tide changing; the wave of pain was starting to   
take him under. His thoughts were muddled and it was hard to focus on   
talking. "Its--easier--for you to--be--c-c-cold-- detached." Carter swallowed   
painfully, his chest compressed by an unbearable weight.   
  
"Stop seeking my approval, Carter. You don't need it anymore." Peter   
lowered his head, his words soft and genuine. "You've had it for a long   
time." Instead of seeing happiness, or at least ease, Carter's eyes seemed to   
be filled with even more sadness.   
  
"I--I know. I-I-I j-just wanted your--friendship." Carter couldn't hold out   
anymore; finally letting the agony win him over. He groaned as the double   
images inside the car blurred into an unrecognizable montage of color. Then   
he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.   
  
His hand slipped from Benton's arm and fell unceremoniously to the side.   
Peter was overwhelmed with an intense fear, and grabbed Carter's wrist to   
check his pulse. Relief flooded him when he felt it; weak but steady. He   
moved his hand to grasp the younger man's. He held it tenderly in his own,   
and gave it a gentle squeeze. Carefully gathering the unconscious man in his   
arms, he gently embraced him. His face moist, Peter whispered in his ear,   
"I've always been your friend."   
  
Not wanting to aggravate the younger man's broken bones, Peter gently   
lowered him to a prone position on the floor. He let his hand linger on   
Carter's shoulder, for his own comfort. Benton sat quietly, staring into the   
emptiness of the van, every once in a while checking Carter's pulse to   
reassure himself of its steady rhythm. The vehicle was be silent, but filled   
with the pounding of the storm outside. The rain was so heavy that it was   
hard for Benton to hear Carter's shallow breathing. He was alone, he realized   
nervously, without anywhere to go.   
  
Peter glanced down at his former student and wondered if that was how he   
had felt these past few months: in the midst of chaos, but trapped by a cruel   
reality. The world continued on its track, oblivious to the drama inside the   
van. Benton looked toward the back door, hoping Mark would come in with   
a solution to their situation. The surgeon tried to recall little things he should   
have noticed, things he'd missed these past months. He'd seen Carter in the   
halls or during traumas. Of course, he wasn't looking for anything. Things   
were back to normal, the staff had to move on with their lives, and he had   
his budding relationship with Cleo. Benton knew that when you weren't   
looking for something, you didn't usually find anything. John Carter was a   
doctor, a grown man. Peter had done his job, taught him what was required.   
Sure, he considered him a friend, but he also didn't seek him out to talk to or   
go out for a drink with. The hospital was his home, but he had his son and   
Carla. It wasn't a substitute family for him, as it was for others. Like it was   
for the Carter, he thought.   
  
Peter was trying to understand why he never let down his wall for Carter,   
when he heard the faint sounds of footsteps over the pounding of the rain.   
"Hey, Carter, you hear that man? That's Mark and I know help's going to be   
here soon. You got to wake up now, this isn't the time to take a nap." Peter   
tried shaking his left shoulder gently, but there was no response. He was still   
attempting to wake the younger man, when the back door opened and a   
wave of cold air rolled through the vehicle.   
  
"Mark, shut the door! It's finally warm in here," Peter said crabbily,   
adjusting Carter's suit jacket. He ignored Mark as he settled down on the   
opposite side of their friend.   
  
"I was able to get a signal out. What happened?" He gestured to Carter. "Is   
he stable, Peter?" He whipped out his penlight and bent over to examine   
Carter's pupils once more.   
  
"He's unconscious. What does it look like?" Peter grumbled. "When's help   
going to arrive? We need a CT to rule out a subdural hematoma."   
  
"Pupils still even, very sluggish, though. God, I wish we could get a BP."   
Mark tucked his penlight back into the pocket of his soaked through shirt.   
  
"Mark, who did you reach?" Peter asked impatiently, unable to wait any   
longer for news.   
  
"I got in touch with a fire station. I couldn't get through to a hospital. They're   
going to send a couple of their EMT's when they can clear the roads. There   
are many trees down..."   
  
"How long, Mark?" Peter interrupted.   
  
"They said an hour or two," Mark responded, eyes downcast. He didn't   
lookup, feeling Peter's angry glare.   
  
"Damn it! We can't wait that long! He needs x-rays, a possible ex- lap, he   
could have re-injured..."   
  
"Peter! Stop it!" Mark cut him off. "We can't do anything right now. We   
have to accept that. You don't think I'm worried? You don't think I feel just a   
little bit responsible for what happened tonight?" Mark calmed down when   
he saw Peter listening. "I'm the one that made the arrangements for him to   
go to Atlanta." Mark held up one finger. "I'm the one who didn't think the   
idea out enough. I was just going to hand him a ticket and hope for the best."   
Mark held up a second finger. "I'm the one who thought that driving at night   
and in the rain was a bright idea." Mark held a third finger. He wasn't   
looking for forgiveness; he just needed to let Peter know that he felt terribly   
guilty.   
  
"I'm not going to defend you in anyway, Mark. You're right. I think the   
whole intervention was poorly done. I don't think he was monitored properly   
when he returned to the hospital. He was overworked and he had no one to   
turn to. So, he turned to his pain medication." Peter's voice competed with   
the booming sound of the thunderstorm raging outside.   
  
"There is plenty of blame to go around, Peter. I had no idea he was in that   
much pain. Did you? Hell, you were his surgeon! Then you turned over his   
care to someone else. Why did you do that, huh, Peter?"   
  
The veins on Benton's face stood out, an indication of the rage he was   
holding back. He took a deep breath, and slowly answered the other doctor.   
"I thought it was for the best to transfer his care to someone else. I kept tabs   
on him." He sat there in the thick, heavy silence, hoping his last statement   
would justify his actions.   
  
"Why did you go after him in the parking lot, Peter?" Mark asked pointedly.   
  
Taken aback, Benton let out an exaggerated sigh. "Because I could talk some   
sense into him."   
  
"Because he respects you?" Mark pressed.   
  
"Yeah, I guess," he replied tersely.   
  
"Because you were his teacher," Mark said matter-of-factly.   
  
Aggravated Peter said, "Yes, I was his teacher for three years.   
  
Mark shook his head as if disappointed with a child. "You can't admit it,   
canyou?"   
  
Benton didn't reply. He rolled his eyes, and tried to distract himself by   
adjusting Carter's suit jacket. Again.   
  
"Peter, you are an extremely gifted surgeon. You always seek out a   
challenge and you never back down from an argument. But you can't handle   
something as simple as accepting or admitting friendship?"   
  
"How I deal with people, Dr. Greene, is none of your business. Carter knows   
where he stand with me. He doesn't need to be coddled. We've had our   
differences in the past, but he understands."   
  
"Maybe. Maybe not. I've learned that if you open up to people then they'll   
open up to you. When..." Mark wasn't allowed to finish.   
  
"Dr. Greene, save your lectures for your own conscience, mine is fine,"   
Peter told him firmly, without flinching.   
  
"You could have fooled me, Peter. Mine is quite burdened right now, its   
downright driving me crazy. I was Carter's direct supervisor, and I failed to   
do my job. I missed the signs. I approached him, but I didn't force the issue.   
Maybe..."   
  
"M-m-maybes don't get you anywhere, D-D-Dr. Greene." Carter's voice   
startled both of them, and they turned to hover over their patient.   
  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  



	5. Chapter5

  
"You were out there for a few minutes, Carter," Peter told the younger man.   
In a softer voice he added, "You had me worried." Benton glanced down at   
him and once again, a silent communication passed between the two.   
  
Carter glanced up from his prone position on the floor. Both doctors seemed   
to be trying to keep something from him. The tension in the van was almost   
as uncomfortable as breathing had become, and Carter wondered if there   
was something else going on. The double images were gone, enabling him to   
focus more clearly on his companions' faces. The unmerciful pounding in his   
skull was playing havoc with his stomach, but he was able to keep the   
nausea at bay. It was his chest and back that kept him from the confines of a   
deep, relaxing sleep. He wished he were back in the silence of that void.   
  
"G-g-god, I thought the p-p-pain was bad when I was t-t-hrown off that   
gurney," Carter groaned, as he tried-and failed-to take a deep breath. The   
pain rippling through his chest admonished him for his bad idea. And all he   
could do was lie in agony, resuming the fruitless position of wrapping his   
arms around his broken ribs.   
  
"What are you talking about? When were you thrown?" Peter asked, upset   
that he was unaware of this little event.   
  
Mark answered for the injured man, since he felt it wasn't a good idea for   
Carter to strain himself. "I told you about it, Peter." Mark wanted to keep the   
conversation between him and the surgeon private. "Carter was pummeled   
off a gurney while doing a hip reduction."   
  
"Yeah, well why was he allowed to do such a procedure in the first place?   
Who was supervising him?" Peter was outraged that Carter was participating   
in procedures that his body was not ready for. He knew that, so why hadn't   
anyone else understood the terms of his recovery?   
  
"Kerry was there, but Carter insisted he was fine, Peter," Mark said   
defending his colleague.   
  
Carter closed his eyes while the doctors continued their argument. They   
were discussing him as if he wasn't there. Making decisions and voicing   
opinions on things that he took great measures to avoid. He had spent so   
much energy gaining acceptance and proving himself, yet there were still   
people doubting his choices.   
  
"Hey!" he managed to yell. Carter tried to turn to his side to curl up against   
the pain lancing across his chest. Peter put his hands on his shoulder to   
restrain the movement.   
  
"Don't move, Carter," Benton instructed him, as he tried to keep Carter's   
fidgeting from adding to his problems.   
  
Unable to move, Carter practically yelled what was going through his   
mind."It was my fault. Alright?" He took a shuddering breath and continued.   
"I-I-I just wanted to be normal. I-I-I wanted everything to be back t-t-t   
tonormal." Carter gasped in pain, but he wouldn't let them keep him from   
speaking what was on his mind. Pressing a hand on his chest to subdue some   
of the anguish, he went on. "It wasn't normal. I-I-I wasn't the same. I did that   
p-p-procedure just like I-I- I did all the others. In pain. That's why I t-t-took   
the Fentanyl today. It was the quickest solution. I acted on instinct."   
  
Carter's voice was shaking, and the other two doctors tried to calm him   
down. "Carter, its okay, you don't have to explain anything. We had a role in   
this too. We just don't want to admit it." Mark looked over at Peter who was   
awkwardly trying to agree by comfortingly squeezing Carter's hand.   
  
"We look out for each other. We're supposed to. But we failed to do that for   
you. The rest of us sought some sense of normalcy after the attack. And to   
do that we had to keep dealing with life. We should have been as involved in   
all aspects of your recovery. We weren't, and--I'm sorry." Mark felt relieved,   
as if by telling Carter what he was thinking, a burden had been lifted off his   
shoulders.   
  
Carter relaxed at Mark's words, letting them sink in. He didn't think Mark   
had anything to feel guilty about. "Dr. Greene, there are some things we   
can't prevent. I--I couldn't s-s-save Lucy. You couldn't h- h-help me   
Sometimes we need to f-f-orgive ourselves." Carter closed his eyes, trying to   
come up with the additional energy required to put Mark's mind at ease.   
  
"I didn't learn that, till now. H-h-hearing you talk, sounded like my   
conscience. The voice of d-d-doubt eating away at me. I-I-I couldn't do   
anything to help Lucy. I g-g-guess that's why I just acted without th-th-  
thinking on the road." Carter slowly and methodically turned his head to   
look at Benton.   
  
He waited for the dizziness to subside before he spoke. "That's why I pushed   
y-y-you out of the way. I-I- could do something in that split second." He   
took another shallow breath. "I just wasn't fast enough." Carter couldn't help   
but chuckle at his inadequacies. He was always such a klutz when he was a   
student. Nice to know that some things never changed.   
  
Mark looked over at Benton. "That was reflex, Carter. You shouldn't feel   
guilty for caring about another person. I think actions speak louder then   
words and we all understand that."   
  
"Yeah, well I think I owe Dr. Benton one anyway," Carter said turning his   
head back to stare at the ceiling.   
  
Peter released his grip on Carter's hand. "You didn't owe me anything,   
Carter. That was a real stupid thing you did." Benton could see his former   
student flinch at his strong words. "But--thank you."   
  
Carter was surprised that Peter had actually said the words. So much had   
changed in such a short period of time. "Dr. Benton, do you think I'll n-n-  
need another operation?" Carter asked nervously. Both doctors didn't want to   
raise his hopes, or lie.   
  
Peter spoke first. "I don't know, Carter. There is some extensive bruising on   
your right side, where the car hit you. I didn't see enough to indicate any   
internal bleeding, but you know we need x- rays."   
  
"I don't want another operation," Carter whispered. He didn't realize he had   
spoken the words aloud. He didn't see the feelings of remorse and sadness   
that flitted across his friends' faces.   
  
He did know one thing for sure, however. "When I go to the hospital, I don't   
want any pain medication," he said matter-of-factly.   
  
"Carter, you're in a great deal of pain. I know what you're thinking and I   
know what you've been through, but..."   
  
"No more. Dr. Greene, I-I-I don't want any." Carter could see the doubt on   
Mark's face. Understanding the conflict of emotions, Carter turned to Peter,   
who he knew would respect his wishes.   
  
"Dr. Benton, don't let them g-g-give me anything. Please." Carter's voice   
was faltering. There was a long pause before Peter silently replied.   
  
"Okay, Carter." Peter nodded his head, not wanting to argue with his friend.   
He honestly wasn't sure he could keep his promise.   
  
  
  
Carter was exhausted. The process of taking small, useless breaths was   
sapping the little energy he had left. The rain had not tapered off in the   
slightest, and his ears were filled with the pounding of the storm, which   
seemed to reverb through the dead vehicle. The other two doctors were   
silent, and he wasn't up to starting a conversation. Besides, he had a feeling   
that Benton wouldn't allow him to speak. It was odd to see him so worried.   
He hadn't seen that look of fear since that horrible night in the OR. In a way,   
he was glad that he wasn't alone.   
  
Peter was getting restless. There was nothing they could do, and the sound of   
Carter's labored breathing was making him more and more anxious. He was   
just so stubborn. When help arrived, he would have to convince him to   
accept some form of pain medication. Peter's thoughts were interrupted   
when he heard the distant sounds of sirens. He banged his head on the   
ceiling as he stood up to look out the window. Mark was closest to the back   
door. He had some difficulty releasing the lever in his rush to open the door.   
Finally, he swung the door open, climbing out to direct the EMTs, nearly   
falling in the process. He turned to Benton, who was following right behind   
him.   
  
"Stay with Carter, I'll go tell them what's going on." Mark walked away   
leaving, Peter no choice but to remain with their patient.   
  
Peter felt he had been Carter's primary doctor, and he wanted to inform them   
of the patient's condition. He knew Mark was equally competent, but he felt   
that he was in charge of Carter's care. He was almost tempted to jump out   
and follow Mark, but managed to control himself, instead preparing Carter   
to be transported. He knelt down beside him, observing that his breathing   
was faster then it had been during the entire ordeal.   
  
"Its going to be okay, man," Benton told the panicked doctor. "Help is here."   
His face was shining with perspiration, and Carter locked eyes with him,   
face frozen in that same mask of fear-an expression Benton never wanted to   
see again. It was hard to reassure Carter when he himself was just as   
worried. Peter grabbed his hand again for the third time that night. He held it   
in his own, giving Carter strength and courage. "I will be there the entire   
time, Carter. Nothing will be done without my knowledge." Peter knew he   
shouldn't be promising things that he didn't have any control over, but hel   
pwas here, and Carter needed to calm down.   
  
Mark returned with two paramedics: one redheaded woman, and a burly,   
ark-haired man. Peter didn't bother looking at their nametags; he just began   
to bark orders to regain control over the situation. "We have a male   
Caucasian, 29, struck by a vehicle. He has a concussion with two lapses of   
consciousness. Complains of dizziness and blurred vision. He has two   
broken ribs on the right side with a probable sternal fracture, no symptoms   
of a flail chest..."   
  
"Peter, I already went over everything," Mark called from outside the van.   
Benton got out of the way of the EMTs and stood beside Mark as the two   
paramedics slid a backboard into the van. They shifted Carter onto the board   
after placing a cervical collar around his neck, asking him a series of routine   
questions as they did so. Carter's replies were inaudible over the noise of the   
transfer. Benton hopped into the back after the gurney, and ark went to the   
front to sit in the passenger seat of the ambulance.   
  
The lady paramedic started a large bore IV, then placed a blood pressure   
cuff around Carter's arm. The other medic was cutting off Mark's old T-shirt.   
Finally in a well-lit area, Peter could see the large bruises that marred Carter.   
They were a dark shade of purple, covering his chest and dotting his side.   
There were some scrapes that he hadn't noticed before. He prayed that he   
hadn't overlooked anything else, anything more serious.   
  
The male attendant was placing an oxygen mask over Carter's face while   
radioing the hospital with his patient's vitals. "We have a male, 29, victim of   
a hit and run. Pulse 125, BP 140 over 90. Resps 25 and shallow on the right   
side. Our ETA is 15 to 20."   
  
The EMT turned to Benton."How long ago was the accident?"   
  
"About three hours ago," Benton replied.   
  
"Any dementia or hallucinations?"   
  
"No."   
  
"What's his name?"   
  
Benton was annoyed by these mundane questions, but wearily answered.   
"Carter." Peter looked down at the patient. "John Carter."   
  
The female medic began to place cardiac leads on his chest. She spoke to   
him in a placating tone. "Now, Mr. Carter, we know you're a little distressed,   
but you have to try to slow down your breathing."   
  
Carter closed his eyes, willing his lungs to take slower, deeper breaths. He   
could hear the heart monitor beeping faster as his rate of breathing slowed.   
His blood pressure was probably through the roof, but he couldn't turn his   
head to check on it with the neck collar on.   
  
The female spoke again. "Looks like you sustained a chest injury. I know   
you're in a lot of pain. We'll have you in the hospital in no time, and then the   
doctors can..."   
  
Peter cut her off, his voice irritated. "He's a doctor. He knows the routine   
and he knows the tests. You don't have to talk to him like a patient." He   
checked the blood pressure reading. It was up to 145 over 90.   
  
"Please, ah, I presume Dr..."   
  
"Dr. Benton," Peter finished for her.   
  
"Well, Dr. Benton, please don't touch the instruments. And remember he is a   
patient today. Alright?" The woman went back to monitoring Carter's vitals.   
Peter Benton sat there quietly, feeling more and more fed up. The night had   
all the ingredients of a bad dream, now it had erupted into an unstoppable   
living nightmare. He just prayed it would end very shortly.   
  



	6. Conclusion

  
The ride to the hospital was worse then uncomfortable silence in the van.   
The mbulance kept running over bumps in the and each one elicited a   
grimace or groan from Carter. All he wanted to do was sleep. He wanted to   
forget this night, to forget the past three months. He wanted all his problems   
to disappear. In his heart, he knew this was impossible, but he could try. The   
confrontation with Benton had made it perfectly clear how close he was to   
the edge.He had been walking a fine line for months now. He had started   
with extra doses of his pain medication, but, in the confusion of the ER, he   
had done the unthinkable. He still couldn't believe he had started injecting   
himself with narcotics whenever there was a sudden onset of pain. Not only   
did he endanger patients' lives, but he had put his friends in danger. If they   
had not felt the need to send him to rehab, then Dr. Benton might not have   
been out in a dangerous situation. It didn't even occur to him that he saved   
the man's life.   
  
Carter suffered through the painful ride, sighing with relief as he felt the   
ambulance slow at what was apparently their destination. He was unloaded   
and wheeled into a foreign ER. There was a flurry of activity, people   
shouting and poking him. They were asking him questions again, the same   
ones he had been asked all night. He answered each one, tired of the   
unwanted attention.   
  
`````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
Mark and Peter followed the gurney into the ER. They were instructed to   
wait outside, so they informed the staff that they were doctors. One of the   
nurses told them that trauma two was cramped as it was, and only one of   
them could come and observe. Peter was in the room before the nurse could   
finish giving him instructions on protocol. Peter wasn't gloved or gowned,   
but he stood back, keeping at least one of his many promises.   
  
He watched all the procedures that were being performed, noting that the   
team was running efficiently. The man running the trauma was busy   
checking vitals.   
  
He yelled to one of the nurses, " I want a chest film, abdomen, and call   
radiology for a head CT." The paramedics had explained that Dr. West was   
excellent, and even Peter had to admit that his command of a trauma was   
impressive as he continued to examine Carter, ruling out various injuries.   
  
"Mr. Carter, have you had some recent surgery? I have noted some surgical   
scars on your abdomen." Dr. West leaned over for the answer, but Carter's   
reply was muffled by his oxygen mask.   
  
Peter walked over to the doctor, ignoring the warning stares of the nurse.   
"I'm Dr. Benton, and I was the surgeon who operated on Dr. Carter," Peter   
explained, placing a little too much emphasis on "Doctor."   
  
Dr. West looked over at the man who had answered for his patient. He   
looked very serious and was obviously concerned for a colleague. This was a   
man who clearly wasn't going to allow hospital politics to dictate how to   
properly care for his patient. "Dr. Benton, by all means, please update me on   
Dr. Carter's history," Dr. West said sincerely. "It will be helpful when   
examining the X-rays."   
  
Peter glanced over at John, knowing he didn't want to think about the recent   
past. But there was no choice, and, as a doctor, Carter understood the   
medical reasons for speaking for him.   
  
"Dr. Carter was stabbed twice in the lower back about three months ago. I   
repaired the kidney; there was no permanent renal damage. I performed a   
colostomy, and he hasn't had any complications since."   
  
"Thank you, Dr. Benton, I'll look for any scar tissues from his previous   
injury and order an MRI." Dr. West ordered the test as one of the nurses   
returned with Carter's chest films and x-rays. Both Peter and the other doctor   
looked at the chest film, noting the sternal fracture. Carter's ribs were indeed   
broken on the right side, but he wasn't suffering from a flail chest, meaning   
no respiratory complications. Peter sighed with relief when the other x-rays   
confirmed that there was no internal bleeding. This meant no ex-lap, no   
additional surgery.   
  
Dr. West was pleased, and turned to one of the other residents. "Alright, et's   
take a look at that concussion with a head CT. Hopeful we can rule out a   
subdural hematoma and any other head trauma." Dr. West turned back to   
Carter as he was being wheeled to x-ray. "Your pupils were sluggish, and I   
think you may have a medium-degree concussion, but I'm pretty sure there   
are no addition problems. Once we confirm that-should be a couple of   
minutes--I'll hook you up with a small does of morphine, IV, okay?"   
  
"No!" came Carter's garbled, but vehement, answer.   
  
"Excuse me, Dr. Carter?" Dr. West asked, confused. The nurses stopped   
wheeling the gurney so the conversation could continue.   
  
Carter clumsily took off his mask, in order to make his point clear. "I don't   
want any pain medication. No narcotics. I'm within my right to refuse," he   
told the bewildered doctor. Carter looked around the despite the pain it   
caused in his head until he located Peter. He locked eyes with him, knowing   
his friend would back him up.   
  
Dr. West looked at both men at a loss for words. He shook his head and   
turned to Dr. Benton, noting anther man hovering behind him. "I don't   
understand. Dr. Carter, it is very advisable that you accept some form of   
pain medication. I can give you 10 to 15 milligrams of morphine IM, or if   
you'd prefer, 75 to 100 milligrams of Demerol IM. If you don't want to take   
it orally I can give it to you through an IV."   
  
His voice grew louder and more agitated as he spoke Carter closed his eyes   
after glimpsing Mark standing next to the gurney, beside Dr. West. He   
wasn't up for a confrontation regarding his care. "No. I don't want any pain   
medication. I'll take some aspirin. Dr. Benton understands, he's my doctor."   
Carter looked past Mark and at Peter.   
  
Peter had three different people staring at him for answers, each with a   
different expression. He looked away from all of them for a second and   
searched his heart. Carter had just called him "his" doctor: he trusted him.   
Benton returned his gaze to Dr. West. "Yes, I'm his doctor," Peter   
confirmed, almost proudly. "If he doesn't want any pain medication, don't   
give it to him." Peter didn't like what he was saying, but it was what Carter   
really wanted.   
  
Dr. West indicated for the nurse to take the patient for his head CT. Then he   
placed his hands on his hips in obvious irritation. It was late at night, he was   
exhausted, and he wanted to avoid this argument at all costs. He looked over   
at the guy with glasses, who was trying to send lightning bolts to the surgeon   
with his eyes. The guy with the glasses turned to him.   
  
"I'm Dr. Mark Greene, and Dr. Benton is no longer Dr. Carter's physician.   
He hasn't been his caregiver for over three months. I have to disagree with   
Dr. Benton's opinion."   
  
Dr. West clasped his hands together. "I don't know what is going on here,   
but my patient has a fractured sternum and broken ribs. He's in a lot of pain.   
Right now, he is in my hospital, and he is my responsibility."   
  
"And he also clearly indicated that he doesn't want to be administered   
morphine," Peter said forcefully. "He has the right to refuse."   
  
"Peter, you know the circumstances under which he made that decision. It's   
in his best interests..."   
  
"Mark, I think we should respect his wishes," Peter said wearily. "Let him   
take control of some aspect of his life."   
  
"Excuse me, Doctors. If you are truly being this man's friend, then I suggest   
you change his mind. He is within his rights, but I don't think it's his option   
right now," Dr. West tried to reason.   
  
Peter turned to both of them. "For once, I am being his friend. He has to start   
fighting his problem, and if he wants to do it the hard way, then I'll support   
him." Peter took a deep breath. "In any way." He walked away, searching for   
a quiet place to relax.  
  
  
Mark decided to let the surgeon be and went to find a phone to alert Kerry of   
their current situation. Once that difficult job was complete, Mark realized   
that it was necessary to find accommodations for the night. He quickly   
dismissed the idea of going back out to his car. After locating a motel down   
the road, Mark journeyed back to the ER for an update on Carter. As he   
headed to the admit desk, he glimpsed Dr. West coming his way. The doctor   
was very confused about their current situation, but seemed to take it in   
stride.   
  
"Dr. Benton has been lurking outside the radiology room; he doesn't seem to   
understand that we do know how to do our jobs around here." Dr. West   
looked at Mark pointedly.   
  
"I'm sorry about that. It's been an extremely-long day. How is Carter?" Mark   
asked, trying valiantly to keep the exhaustion from his voice.   
  
Dr. West sensed his companion's weariness, and his tone grew sympathetic.   
"Dr. Carter has a severe concussion, but we ruled out any bleeding or   
permanent damage. He'll have quite a headache for a while, and will   
continue to suffer from episodes of blurred vision, but he'll be fine in about   
four or five days. I want to keep him here for at least three."   
  
Mark shook his head in relief, but immediately grew anxious at the stern   
look he was receiving from the other doctor. "What's wrong, Dr. West?"   
Mark asked.   
  
"Look, I examined his MRI, and even I can tell that there's still some   
inflamed tissue from his previous injury. I know he should still be on some   
form of prescribed medication. So why is it that he refuses to take any for a   
painful sternal fracture, Dr. Greene?" Dr. West questioned, annoyance   
creeping into his calm voice. Mark was at a loss for words, unsure of how to   
handle this issue. Dr. West answered his own question.   
  
"Dr. Greene, I think I know what the refusal is all about. It can happen.   
However, I think it presents a problem for a full recovery. You know there is   
a chance he could develop pneumonia if he can't properly maintain some   
normal respiration, which is problematic with broken ribs and a fractured   
sternum."   
  
"I know," Mark responded, rubbing the bridge of his nose.   
  
"Convince him to take some meds. I'll lower the dose, but do it." Before   
Mark could argue or agree, Dr. West picked up a chart and walked towards   
another exam room. Mark looked around for any sign of Peter. He stopped   
searching when his tired eyes landed on their goal. Peter Benton was with   
"his" patient. Great, Mark thought, leaning against the wall. How do I tell   
the Berlin wall that it's time to come down?   
  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
Peter Benton entered Carter's room. The lights that normally shone brightly   
were dimmed to accommodate the extreme headache of the occupant. Peter   
found a chair and sat down heavily. The room was filled with the steady   
sound of the cardiac monitor. He sat quietly for a long time, staring with   
resignation at the unused PFC machine next to Carter's IV. The patient was   
not resting comfortably, like he should have been. Like he needed to, Peter   
thought angrily. In fact, Carter looked terrible. His face was pale, his body   
tense, and there were dark circles under his eyes. Noting that Carter was   
awake he spoke quietly.   
  
"You know, Carter, you can stop being so damn stubborn. You're not   
proving anything to anybody."   
  
Carter opened his eyes, his expression weary. "I'm not proving anything," he   
whispered in a soft, raspy voice. "I don't want to go down that road again."   
Carter put his hand up to his head in a futile attempt to rub his forehead. He   
dug his thumb into the side of his skull in an effort to rub some of the pain   
away. The end result was only an agonizing wince after he raised his arm   
above his head.   
  
"If you would act reasonably, you would be sleeping now. Or did you forget   
that rest is what helps heal the body?" Peter asked sarcastically.   
  
"I haven't had any real sleep in months and that was on my prescription,"   
Carter answered resignedly.   
  
"That's your line, huh? You're just going to hide behind that BS forever?"   
Peter snapped.   
  
Carter looked visible upset, almost confused by the conversation. Then his   
face resumed an offended, stone like appearance. "BS? Have you forgotten   
why this whole thing happened tonight? What I've been through these past   
months? I thought...I thought."   
  
This time, Peter didn't let him continue. "You thought wrong, Carter. You   
have for a long time. You thought you could endure things all my yourself.   
You thought it was okay to lie about how you were feeling, and how much   
pain you've been in. You thought you could somehow self medicate without   
consequences. Well, Carter, you know better!" Peter leaned into Carter's   
private space, not allowing him to look away during this tirade. Carter   
seemed to crumble before Peter's eyes. His expression melted into one of   
despair and disappointment. Peter pressed on, since all that greeted his ears   
was the steady beep of the heart monitor.   
  
"However, your biggest mistake was thinking that you couldn't turn to   
anyone for help," Peter said, his voice even and clam.   
  
John rubbed his eyes absently and grunted an empty laugh. "Yeah, you think   
so? Do you really think I could unburden my conscience to someone? I   
didn't want to do that. I didn't want to be a pitiful person who everyone could   
just feel sympathy for. I just wanted things to be..." He trailed off.   
  
"Carter, your life is going to change, and that's normal. You have to accept   
that as a reality," Benton chided him softly.   
  
"I couldn't let anyone in the ER know. I needed to work, who could have   
helped me objectively?" Carter asked sincerely.   
  
"You could have asked me," Peter said, as if it was an obvious answer.   
  
Carter grew quiet for a moment, studiously examining the area where the IV   
was inserted in his wrist. "You?" he said, surprised. The very idea   
dumbfounded him.   
  
"Yeah. We could have, uh, talked," Peter said uneasily.   
  
Carter couldn't help but laugh. "You can't even discuss this now, Dr.   
Benton." Carter paused and searched Peter's face, seeing resignation and   
despair replacing his usual calm countenance. "Patient doctor counseling   
was never you strong point," Carter told the surgeon in a light tone.   
  
Peter looked away and sighed. "Carter," he started to say.   
  
"Dr. Benton," Carter interrupted. "I didn't expect it. I mean, it's alright, I   
know you feel uncomfortable in these situations." Carter really had not   
expected this conversation.   
  
Benton leaned closer to Carter, resting his hands on the bedrail. "That's the   
point. You never considered talking to me, because of the way I am. And   
that's my own fault."   
  
Realization began to dawn on Carter and it threw him for a loop. "You don't   
really blame yourself for any of this, do you, Dr. Benton?" Carter asked   
incredulously. It didn't make sense that Peter would think his actions or   
inactions were in any way responsible for my problems, Carter thought. The   
whole notion was completely ridiculous.   
  
"Carter, you know I've had lapses in judgment before. In fact, I know you   
were thrilled when I admitted them before," he said ruefully. "You were my   
patient and I didn't follow up. I didn't want to get too close so I assigned you   
another doctor. I didn't want my emotions clouding my decisions regarding   
your care, like they did in the OR." Peter stared at the wall, unable to look   
Carter in the eye.   
  
John knew what Peter was saying and, more importantly, what he was   
implying. A few days after surgery he had told him about the problems with   
keeping the bleeding under control and how Benton opted to take out his   
kidney. Carter had never considered the other implications.   
  
After a moment of silence, Peter managed to continue. "I shouldn't have   
transferred you to another physician." Peter looked Carter in the eye. "And   
I'm sorry for that." Peter leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in his   
lap. He waited anxiously for a reply, but was greeted by a thick, heavy   
silence, only interrupted by the constant beeping sound of the heart monitor.   
  
Carter didn't quite know how to respond. The emotions he was experiencing   
were overwhelming; they had even managed to distract him from the pain in   
his body. Instead, it was replaced by an ache in his heart, and a feeling of   
tremendous relief: he did have someone to turn to. "Why are you telling me   
this now?" Carter whispered.   
  
"I don't want past regrets to hurt you in the future. Our past mistakes   
shouldn't be allowed to haunt us forever, Carter. I think you should listen to   
me, and to yourself. I think we both know that it is in your best interests to   
let Dr. West give you some morphine." Peter took his hand and placed it on   
Carter's arm when the other man began to rub his temple again.   
  
"I know what you're thinking. I thought that instead of it being in your   
control, one of the nurses could administer it. I'm only talking about one and   
a half milligrams every four hours, man. This way you could get the rest you   
need and the peace of mind that you are not making any medication   
decisions." Peter was sure it sounded like a reasonable argument.   
  
"I don't know what to do," Carter said dejectedly. The pain of his chest was   
excruciating, but he didn't want to touch anymore narcotics. It was just too   
much for him to handle.   
  
"Hey," Peter said. "I'm suggesting this as your doctor and ...as your friend."   
  
Carter tried to breathe deeply, a reflex when he was frustrated and forced to   
make a tough choice. The lancing pain reminded him of why Benton was so   
concerned about the issue and as a doctor, he knew all the reasons why he   
should accept the offer. "I trust you. Tell Dr. West to administer the smaller   
dosage." Carter saw the look of contentment on Dr. Benton's face, and knew   
he'd done the right thing.   
  
"Well, good," Peter said, as he got up and headed for the door. "I knew that   
bump on your head didn't knock that much sense out of you."   
  
"Dr. Benton," Carter called.   
  
Peter turned around. "Yeah?"   
  
"Thank you," Carter said quietly.   
  
Peter lingered in the doorway for a moment. "Thank you, for pushing me out   
of the way back there."   
  
"You're welcome," Carter replied, a small smile lighting up his face.   
  
Peter left to find Dr. West, knowing that nothing more needed to be said.   
Plenty had been communicated without actually being spoken. Then again,   
that was the way things had always been between the two of them, Peter   
thought. This time, he had made sure Carter got the message.   
  
``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````   
  
EPILOGUE   
  
The accommodations at the Cozy Night Inn were not quite as "spacious" and   
"luxurious" as the manager had promised. After locating Peter in the waiting   
area the surgeon informed him that Carter had changed his mind. Dr. West   
was given the news and had ordered the needed medication and assigned a   
nurse with the special instructions that Peter had wanted.   
  
Mark had hailed a cab, and both men had gotten a somewhat decent night's   
sleep. Mark had made arrangements for a tow truck, and his van was at a   
local shop. At noon, Mark was just finishing a phone call when Peter walked   
in. He looks sunny as usual, Mark thought, toying with the receiver.   
  
"When's the van going to be ready?" Peter asked in his usual restless tone.   
  
"In about two hours. I just got off the phone with the clinic in Atlanta, and   
they said they'd appoint a special doctor for Carter when he arrives there   
next week. He won't miss the program and have to wait until next month."   
  
Peter stopped pacing and nodded. "That's good."   
  
Figuring that was the only response he was going to get out of Peter, Mark   
decided to take the opportunity to praise him. "It was a good thing, what you   
did back at the hospital. I'm glad that you persuaded Carter to accept some   
pain medication."   
  
"He just needed to convince himself," Peter said confidently.   
  
"Well, it was what he needed to do."   
  
"I would have supported him either way, Dr. Greene," Peter explained.   
  
"Look, Peter, I know that we both have regrets about these past few months   
and about last night. I think it would be a good idea if we just got past   
them," Mark said reasonably.   
  
"Yeah, okay. I think you're right, Mark."   
  
"About what?" Mark asked, confused. Was this the right Peter Benton? He'd   
expected a fight.   
  
"Actions sometimes speak louder then words. Come on, I'll buy you lunch."   
Peter did not wait for Mark to agree, pushing open the door.   
  
Mark went outside after him, noting what a beautiful day it was. The sun   
was shining, and there was a pleasant breeze blowing. It was a complete   
contrast to the turbulent weather of the previous night. "I think Carter is   
going to be fine when he returns," Mark told his companion.   
  
"He will. He's going to have all the support of his friends when he gets   
back."   
  
Peter was right, as usual, Mark realized. There was no worry or concern.   
Carter had taken the first steps back, and both men had taken their own steps   
to assure that Carter would never feel alone again.   
  
The end.  
  
  



End file.
